


Small Miracles

by sea_level



Category: Project Blue Book (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Angel!Michael Quinn, Demon!J. Allen Hynek, First Kiss, Friendship Repair, M/M, Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-04
Updated: 2019-04-04
Packaged: 2020-01-04 14:31:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18345584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sea_level/pseuds/sea_level
Summary: Michael looks different now. In the yellow light of the 24-hour laundromat, he’s gained a softened edge, but that’s not all of it. Surrounding him, Allen can see something fraying, the slightest hairline fracture in the surface of his impeccable control. He's shining unreservedly with the force of a nuclear bomb. It's how Allen found him.The tension is still there between them, but the anger’s all gone, faded away through the millennia they’ve spent apart.





	Small Miracles

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this very fast, relatively speaking, because I did absolutely no research, and I made up everything.

The last time they had spoken, Allen had been harsh. His carefully held control had slipped, and the hell flames had come reaching up for him from the vast territories of Hell. Its burning fingers had torn and corrupted the earth, a destructive and devouring presence that would last for eons. It had been more of a show than an attack for Michael, who had stood in the middle of it, unfazed and unaffected. Such was the nature of their existence.

Perfect, little soldier, Allen had spat like an insult when he had meant to say thing like blindly loyal, conformist, and static. Michael had taken it all with a blank face, as he did with most things. He'd said something about divine duty and then he'd left Allen standing in the field with nothing but his anger.

But Allen had been harsh. He was unfair, unsympathetic, and cruel. Sure, he was a demon, a fallen angel, a lost sheep, a whatever, but it's never been an excuse for him. He’s never allowed it to be.

He's always been weird (though he much preferred the term eccentric). He had rejected both of his granted Names, opting for the use of a human one. He did not wander the Earth with the intent to amass, as most of his brethren did. He subdued his emotions. He listened to the humans. He longed for no sense of control, no sense of power beyond the four walls of his own existence. 

He had fallen for sins of omission rather than sins of commission. Negligent in his duties as an angel, entranced by the laws of the universe, he was never fit for the Holy Flight.

When it came time to Fall, he allowed it to happen without putting up a fight. He’s never regretted it. He doesn’t regret much.

Terminating his friendship (if one could call an amicable relationship between an angel and a demon such a thing) with Michael was one of the few things that he did.

* * *

Michael looks different now. In the yellow light of the 24-hour laundromat, he’s gained a softened edge, but that’s not all of it. Surrounding him, Allen can see something fraying, the slightest hairline fracture in the surface of his impeccable control. He's shining unreservedly with the force of a nuclear bomb. It's how Allen found him.

The tension is still there between them, but the anger’s all gone, faded away through the millennia they’ve spent apart.

“Jehu—”

“It’s Allen,” Allen corrects softly. “I haven’t been that since the beginning.”

“Allen,” Michael says.

“Here on a holy mission, I presume?” Allen asks, and Michael ducks his head. It’s all the affirmation that Allen needs. “I didn’t know you still did those.”

“I have been ‘doing them’ for the past few centuries,” Michael replies. He reaches out towards one of the washers and extends two fingers, flipping his hand over. A quarter appears between his fingertips, flashing into existence in one smooth motion. He sticks it into the machine and says, “In one hour, a young woman having a very bad year will come to this laundromat. She will discover that she doesn’t have the money she needs to wash her clothes. This one quarter will be enough of a miracle for her to realize that she doesn’t have to give up on her dreams.”

“That’s never been your concern,” Allen says. He reaches into his pocket and produces a small bag of coins. He places it on top of the washing machine, tucked off to the side, just discrete enough that it’s not immediately noticeable. “This is menial work.”

“No less important,” Michael says, but he doesn’t make eye contact, choosing instead to look over Allen’s shoulder and out the window to the small desert town outside.

“You can’t fool me with that,” Allen replies. “Why are you really here? Down here on Earth?”

Michael shifts uncomfortably, an entirely foreign motion on him. “I wanted to see you again,” he says, and then he’s gone.

Allen blinks and tries to catch the thread of his travel to figure out where he’s gone, but Michael’s left too quickly for him to even sense it.

Allen shakes his head and walks out the front door to where his car is waiting outside.

* * *

Allen sees him next at a cemetery. Michael's kneeling next to a neglected grave, carefully arranging flowers at the base by hand.

“Strange place for a demon,” Michael muses, looking up.

“Is it?” Allen asks. “Death, despair, grieving. It's the place people go to when they're at their weakest and most malleable.”

Michael amends, “It's a strange place for _you_.”

“I suppose so,” Allen replies. “Maybe I wanted to see you again.”

Some of the normal angelic tension in the line of Michael's back eases.

“I'm glad you came,” Michael says. He stands up and hands Allen a single rose. Its petals are browning at the edges and it's riddled with spots. “I've been having a little trouble getting this one up to shape.

“Life has always been your skill,” Allen says, but he reaches in deep and finds the knot inside, absorbing the sickness into himself. He hands the healed rose back to Michael who beams and then whispers something to the flower. The colors intensify and the stem stands strong. The petals and leaves grow firm and plump.

Michael sets it down on the ground with the other flowers. “Thank you,” he says and then Allen's alone again.

* * *

“You know, these jobs really are beneath you,” Allen says. “Can angels get demoted? I really can't recall.”

They're standing in someone's backyard. Michael has a sedated coyote slumped in his arms, but he's cradling it carefully.

“This was a choice,” says Michael to Allen's immediate surprise.

“Making choices, are we?” Allen asks. He ruffles his hand through the fur on the coyote's head, letting a little power flow out of him to kill the fleas hiding underneath.

Michael shrugs. “There's been some changes in the last 2000 years. I felt drawn down, and I was permitted to go.”

“Maybe you just wanted to see me,” Allen jokes.

Michael's smile is soft. “It's the primary benefit,” he says and then looks down at the coyote. “I must go.” He's gone in the blink of an eye, leaving Allen at a loss for words.

* * *

Something has rebuilt itself in that scorched place, the next time Allen visits it. The ground is no longer quite so barren and parched. It's not healed yet, but when Allen puts his fingers in the dirt, he can feel new life pulsing and slithering around underneath.

Allen knows in an instant that Michael's been here, trying to fix this fractured part of their past.

Allen can't make things grow here, and he can't bring the dirt back from a hellfire burn like an angel can, but that doesn't mean he's completely powerless.

He places a guard, faint and undetectable to most. Nothing will come and destroy this place, not as he has. Disease will not survive his protections, destructive accidents will fail to occur, those with ill intent will not be able to enter.

As he stands up to walk away, he feels the incorporeal tether of the guard pull faintly on his heart. It's a strange, fulfilling kind of emptiness. The guard relies on him as a power source. It's not something to be left alone and forgotten. Allen is strangely glad that he’ll always have it reminding him.

* * *

Michael's the one to find him the next time they see each other. It's significant because, this time, Michael doesn't have the guise of a miracle to explain their presence together.

Allen's standing on top of the Empire State Building taking atmospheric readings when Michael appears beside him.

Michael sticks out an arm to steady Allen when he stays away because of the sudden air displacement.

“I don't imagine you have much of a reason to be here,” Allen says.

“How did you get up here?” Michael asks.

“A little bit of bribery,” Allen replies. “A little bit of deflection.”

Michael’s smile is a lot fonder than it should be in the face of crime. He reaches out and presses his fingertips onto the spot just below Allen’s heart, right where the tether is. 

“You went,” he says. “To the place.”

“Our place,” corrects Allen. Michael’s face softens further and he follows the line of the tether out as far as his arm can reach.

“I was scared that what we had was gone forever,” Michael says. “I was afraid of consciously wanting it.”

“Are you still?” Allen asks.

Michael’s smile gains a sharp, dangerous edge, something stunning Allen’s never seen on him before, and he traces the tether back a bit before grasping firmly onto it.

It’s like a direct line to a nuclear reactor. Allen gasps and stumbles at the sheer force of Michael’s emotion. It’s like finally being able to see Michael for who he is after years of nothing but fog and confusion.

The interaction through the tether is more intense and more intimate than any human act, elevated far above any form of carnality. Allen decides for the first time in his very, very long life that he wants the latter too. He reaches out and pulls Michael toward him, knocking his hand off the tether.

Allen takes the brief reprieve to situate himself and then he seals their lips together.

* * *

Michael drives a nail into the wood, securing the wobbly plank back into place on the dock.

“That’s it?” Allen asks. “One nail?”

“Not every miracle needs to be complex,” Michael says. “This one will save someone from a broken limb.”

“If you say so,” Allen says. “How do you know all this stuff is going to happen anyway?”

Michael simply raises a hand and points to the sky.

“He’s explaining his orders now, then?” Allen asks, disbelieving.

“Minor miracles like this? Yes,” Michael says. “Part of the changes.”

“Did you guys unionize or something?” Allen asks 

Michael laughs but doesn’t reply, taking Allen’s hand in his own instead. This time, when he disappears, he takes Allen with him.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments give me life lol
> 
> As per usual, let me know if I made a mistake somewhere. Thanks!


End file.
